


Moments of Peace (Amidst the Chaos)

by FannishMinded



Series: Late Night Tumblr fics [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Car Accident, Hit by a car, M/M, No Beta, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, These Idiots, Whump, h/c, old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 23:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3268085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannishMinded/pseuds/FannishMinded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on Tumblr: http://fannishminded.tumblr.com/post/19386452923/moments-of-peace-amidst-the-chaos<br/>Warnings: Whump, disjointed time perspective, Car Accident involving a pedestrian from Pedestrian’s perspective.</p><p>John heard the screech, and his eyes whipped to the side as he desperately tried to move forward, just get across, get out of the- it was too late. He was shoved, pushed, flying, he wasn’t sure of anything besides that in this second, he might die- and by something as stupid as being hit by a car. It was silent, long seconds as he bounced, he knew his arm at least had taken most of the brunt of the blow. Time sped up as he took his next breath, then he took another. His arm was splayed out, broken, left arm, always that damn side… right knee, dislocated, probably. Another breath, sound, rushing sound, wind near him, he looked over, and he screamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments of Peace (Amidst the Chaos)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Whump, disjointed time perspective, Car Accident involving a pedestrian from Pedestrian’s perspective.

John was panting, the streets were slick and the air thick with moisture, making the fact that they had been chasing the killer for nearly an hour twice the endurance test of any other night he could remember. He slipped and slammed into the side of a parked car, wheezing a bit for a second before shoving off to try and keep up with Sherlock, his eyes desperately tracking the swirl of coat as Sherlock darted into an alley down the road.

He heard the screech, and his eyes whipped to the side as he desperately tried to move forward, just get across, get out of the- it was too late. He was shoved, pushed, flying, he wasn’t sure of anything besides that in this second, he might die- and by something as stupid as being hit by a car. It was silent, long seconds as he bounced, he knew his arm at least had taken most of the brunt of the blow. Time sped up as he took his next breath, then he took another. His arm was splayed out, broken, left arm, always that damn side… right knee, dislocated, probably. Another breath, sound, rushing sound, wind near him, he looked over, and he screamed.

He was laying across the lane- his chest was right in the path of oncoming traffic, and the car that had just brushed past his head could have killed him instantly. He didn’t know what he was screaming at first, his mind just vocalizing a need to be noticed, to be heard, to be moved to safety despite his inability to move at the moment. All he knew was that if someone didn’t stand next to him- he was going to die, and it wasn’t even going to be from the damage caused by the first car. He screamed again, this time managing to make himself say the words racing through his mind. “SOMEBODY STAND BESIDE ME! STAND BY MY HEAD! THEY CAN’T SEE ME!” He knew that any second another car could come, another car, that might not swerve, might not have seen. He yelled again, time immaterial and rushing, each breath an eternity, not daring to move because moving wrong could mean paralysis or death, but not moving could mean death. He was about to move when he saw him, Sherlock, arms waving as he blocked traffic. John stopped yelling and just breathed in, then out, ribs aching, aflame with bruises and pain as he stopped shouting.

Average response time was about a quarter hour, EMTs would be needing a back brace- he liked this jumper, and this jacket was the one his father had worn- but he was alive. This time, he didn’t even have to pray. Sherlock’s voice cut into his jumbled thoughts “John, please hold on. Please, just. Hold on.” The man in the car was babbling how he came out of nowhere, and that he hadn’t SEEN him. Other people were gathering. Gawking. A crowd, lovely. He just hoped one of them had actually called 999 already, in fact “Sherlock, please tell me someone’s called already.” His ribs hurt, probably a few had cracked, no pain in the lungs themselves though. Good.

Sherlock kept his eyes on the road, but his voice held the hint of wry amusement, of ‘don’t be dense, John’, that was unmistakable.  
“CCTV and the team Mycroft has on us makes that a moot point. There is a camera covering the angle I’m standing at that has been locked on since the second I started waving here. It should not be long.” Deep, relieved breath at that, too deep- yep cracked, one possibly fully loose, the grating was unmistakable and his breath came out a pained and hitching hiss.  
Sherlock spoke again, his tone soft but his voice steady and carrying. “Careful. That siren is probably for you, however, it will not be here for at least another moment or two.” John got ready to snap at that- but the tone caught up to him. Soft. Almost asking.

John focused on breathing through the pain- and continued self diagnosing. Potential dislocation of left shoulder- he just hoped the damn thing wasn’t broken, potential break of right leg as well as probable dislocation, right arm sluggish in response to finger curl- possible pinched nerve. Toes mobile. Definitely a concussion, mild. He hoped it was mild. Disorientation beyond shock, at the least, however he doubted he had any skull fractures. And he’d more bounced and skidded on his side than slammed his face- probably no new scars there.

The sirens were there, the sounds of trained men doing their job. John let out his breath in a soft sob of thanks. That much closer to diagnosis and potentially some help with the pain. Sherlock was standing in his vision still. In fact he stayed, just outside the ring of activity, the entire time the checks were done. Finally, finally turning to watch him, to look back at him. Talking with the Police and doing his report with them while looking intently at John. His eyes taking in everything- like always. John cried out sharply as they splinted the arm and did the necessary things to get him mobile and moving into the ambulance. He was crying with the pain, but couldn’t look away from Sherlock. Those eyes, like lasers he could feel even as they checked his pupils again. It grounded him. It was the only point of stillness in all the chaos that surrounded them both.

Another shout escaped as they lifted him, was more involuntary ripped from him, as his entire body thrummed with pain at the jolt. He lost sight of Sherlock in that second, eternity, that his eyes had been closed due to the pain. He couldn’t see him, as they came up to the ambulance, and he closed his eyes again. He knew Sherlock had probably lost the murderer, the more time he spent with John the colder the trail got. John fisted his right hand and choked down a sob with his eyes desperately squeezed shut. More than anything, right now, he just wanted Sherlock; but he couldn’t ask him to stay. He couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t. Sherlock was gone, off to go find some clue and put it together. The game didn’t stop for this.

His chest felt too tight, and he desperately tried to get some sort of control. He felt the EMT take his clenched right hand, a gesture of comfort, hollow as it was. Cold, ungloved hands. His eyes flew open as he looked up with disbelief. “Sherlock?” his voice cracked mid query, while his hand spasmed open to grab the hand covering his. Sherlock was holding his hand, and the EMT was by his head instead. Sherlock, in the Ambulance, but the doors were shutting. Sherlock was still here, with him. “Why?” John pushed out through will alone.

Sherlock leaned closer and his thumb traced a small circle on the side of John’s right hand. Where they were clasping hands. John’s mind was focusing on the this, for just a shocky moment. Then Sherlock’s face was close to his, his free arm braced on the gurney, and he looked so intent. Sherlock’s voice was deep, and a bit rough, as he finally answered John after what felt like an eternity of staring at him.  
“John. What did you first shout, just after the car had hit you? What were you thinking of?”

John blinked, his mind fuzzily trying to grasp what that had to do with why Sherlock was here, not off continuing the chase. His voice was filled with that confusion as he answered. “I needed someone, anyone, to hear me, I had to get someone to stand by me, but I just shouted that first shout. I didn’t shout anything, just a primal shout to not be alone.”

Sherlock’s eyes lit up even as he leaned in closer, his lips pulling into that wry half smile. John was even more confused, and when Sherlock spoke again his voice had dropped a bit lower. “You shouted something.” Sherlock’s eyes had swiftly dulled and the smile dropped away completely. He squeezed John’s hand again and continued without any humor this time and a strange, strong emotion taking it’s place. “When I heard the collision, I was already turning. When I heard what you shouted, my heart suffered momentary arrhythmia. John, it was like a blow.” His voice was that rough rumble by the end.

John couldn’t imagine what he could have said, and he squeezed back on Sherlock’s hand as he expressed that confusion aloud. “What did I say, Sherlock, what could I have possibly said?”

Sherlock leaned even closer, his face filled completely with that intense expression again, alien, new to him. John was overwhelmed, unable to place whatever emotions were filling Sherlock’s face, so close to his own. “You shouted my name John. With all that need, that pain, that loss. You shouted for me by reflex. You said that your only thought was to not be alone- and when you thought of that, you thought of me. John. I could have lost you, a infinitesimal variation, mere inches, could have ended everything.” Sherlock’s own eyes closed for a moment as his hot breath puffed against John’s face.

John looked up at that face, and he finally recognized it. Relief, shock, averted grief… and something else. John’s own breath was coming shorter, his eyes trying to take it in, mind scrabbling to understand the changes just beginning to take form. Sherlock opened his eyes and continued. “Emotions are a weakness John. I knew, as I heard you shout my name, as I saw you there on the ground; I am so very weak, John. Nothing can be gained in denying it.” John was confused still, the concussion and shock, even the pain, conspiring to make everything harder to grasp than it should be.

Sherlock made a sound of frustration and leaned in the last few inches, bringing his lips to John’s. John blinked for a second, then like a bolt, it made sense. Sherlock. Had almost lost him. Sherlock was saying, in his own way, that he loved John. As John stiffened in realization, Sherlock pulled back, eyes shuttering and grip loosening to disengage completely. He would have, too, if John hadn’t tugged with an iron grip, growling out- “Get back here.” He couldn’t move, but Sherlock could.

With a long look into John’s eyes, Sherlock went back in for another kiss. This kiss lingered, sweet yet hinting at more, and with both of them participating equally in the gentle dance of their mouths saying everything that still needed saying.

Nothing but this moment, this second, lips to lips and hand to hand- mattered.

Well, not until the ambulance jerked as they dodged something and John cursed and the EMT moved in to check the lead for the monitor, while Sherlock moved back to keep from potentially falling across John. After the flurry of activity calmed, John started laughing.

“Figures, that. What with having to chase a car to catch a serial killer, you all but rolling over the hood of a bloody car at the start of THAT chase, and having him get SHOT at the end for our first date… I had to get full on HIT by a car, as we chased yet another serial killer… to get our first kiss.”

Sherlock grinned that massive, unselfconscious grin, his own laughter bubbling out. ”Can we agree to progress to sex without another escalation in outside stimuli?” 

John just laughed harder for a second before gasping in pain. 

It was going to be a long night. 

Yet, as he held Sherlock’s hand, he couldn’t rightly care.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: If you ever get stumped on what to write- just take a life experience, and write that. You may be surprised what blooms. That, and contest deadlines are sometimes brilliant tools for motivation. 
> 
> Further (New) Note: Yes, this is a slightly played up and altered version of my own being hit by a car incident a few years back. I really was just using IRL experiences and adding a bit of hyperbole. No brilliant writing, just a life lived badly enough. :P  
> I was far less coherent than John. I blame the lack of combat training and Sherlock at the scene though. ;)


End file.
